


Slow Spinning Redemption

by affectingly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consent Issues, Demonic Possession, F/F, Possessed Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/affectingly/pseuds/affectingly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s all bullshit now, her ideas about hunting, about life and romance and honor. Knowing that is Jo’s first step.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Spinning Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> This work was written mid-season three, so it's definitely canon divergent.

When she’s a girl and all she wants is to be like her father, hunting is this mythical thing for Jo. This thing that she takes for granted because _of course_ she will be good at it; she was born into it, after all. She can shoot guns, handle knives, and make strangers believe her lies with a smile and a flick of long blonde hair. Why shouldn’t she be a good hunter? Why shouldn’t her momma want her doing this? Why shouldn’t Dean Winchester just _want_ her?  
  
It’s a funny thing when her longtime crush’s possessed brother almost murders her. She thinks maybe she’s supposed to be angry with one or both of them, but really, she just feels this odd sort of relief. Relief that she’s still alive, relief that she sees the truth about Dean, relief that she’s not going to throw her life away like her father. Relief.  
  
It’s all bullshit now, her ideas about hunting, about life and romance and honor. Knowing that is her first step. Meeting Gabriel is her second.  
  
\--  
  
She pulls the earphone out, wrapping the wires around the small police radio and tucking it in the inside pocket of her jacket. Jo sighs, her breath white hot in the cool afternoon air. The truck she has her eyes on is bright against the gray-washed world of downtown.   
  
She hooks her thumbs into her back pockets, body leaning to the side as she watches an old man across the street. He’s maybe sixty or so, and she can tell he doesn’t usually make it down this way. She glances at the license plate on the back of his still running shiny, new Dodge pickup. It tells her what she already suspects: He’s from Jefferson County. He’s got no fucking clue what he should or shouldn’t be doing in East St. Louis.   
  
Well, he’ll learn real quick. Lesson one—you don’t fucking leave your vehicle running while you run into the corner gas station. Glancing both ways, Jo jogs across Fortieth Street. When she arrives at the cherry red truck, she can see inside the station. She shakes her head.   
  
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says to no one. The old man isn’t even paying attention; he’s walking to the back, presumably to use the restroom, without so much as a backwards glance at his truck. “Whatever.”  
  
Reaching out, Jo grabs the handle and pulls. She wishes she could be surprised that it’s unlocked, what with it having the buttons for keyless entry on the damn door and all, but she can’t. She pulls herself up and slides into the plush leather seat with ease, closing the door behind her with a sharp bang.   
  
She adjusts the seat, pushes in the clutch, and releases the emergency brake, all in what feels like one motion. Without even a cursory glance over her shoulder to check for the vehicle’s owner again, she moves the gear shift into first and pulls away smoothly, not a single jerk or shudder from the engine.  
  
A short series of lefts and rights later, Jo pulls into an old garage. The door closes behind her before she even has the pickup parked all the way. She shuts it off with a sigh after she pops it in neutral and pulls the emergency brake. Jo’s about to swing the door open and hop out when something on the passenger side floor catches her eye. Frowning, she bends down, reaching across until her hand closes over an ornate, copper cross.   
  
“Hey, Joey! You taking a nap in there or somethin’? Get your ass out of the truck!”  
  
Looking up, she sees Nate holding his hands up, beckoning her to get out. She slips the cross in her pocket and jumps out. “I’m gettin’, I’m gettin’.”  
  
Taking a walk around the truck to check it over, he whistles. “You check this thing for a lojack frequency before you hopped your pretty ass in it? This is primo.”  
  
“Nate, you’re insulting me here. Do I look like I just started doing this yesterday? Of course I checked for a frequency. Thing is clean; driven by some old geezer who probably had no idea what the fuck a lojack was when the dealership offered it to him.” She tucks a piece of brown hair behind her ear and shrugs.   
  
“You always look like you just started, sweetheart.” He licks his lips and winks at her.  
  
“Don’t be gross. I just ate.”  
  
“When?”  
  
“About four hours ago, but I was thinking about eating again sometime in the next few weeks, so I’d rather not lose my appetite.”  
  
Nate flips her off and catches the keys she throws at him. “What a charmer you are, Joey. Makes me wonder every day why you ain’t got a man.”  
  
Jo laughs, peeling her jacket off and tossing it on the nearby table. “Who says I don’t, asshole?”  
  
“No one needs to say. If you was getting fucked on even a semi-regular basis, you wouldn’t be such a fucking bitch,” he crows, dodging out of the way as she takes a swat at him.  
  
“You’re gonna think bitch when I shove my foot up your ass.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, you planning on helping me with this, or you just gonna stand there and look pretty?”  
  
She picks up a rag from the table, tucks it into her back pocket, and walks to the front of the truck. “Pop the hood, Nate, and turn on the radio so I don’t have to listen to you.”  
  
After a few more minutes of bickering, Nate does as she asks, and they work in relative silence for a few hours. They don’t get the pickup fully stripped by nightfall, but there’s decent progress, and Jo’s satisfied.   
  
“See you tomorrow?” Nate asks as she grabs her jacket and slips it back on.  
  
Nodding, Jo waves, then walks out the back door into the cold night air. The temperature has dropped even more now that the sun is down, and Jo shivers, shoving her hands into her pockets for warmth. Her fingers brush against cool metal, and she frowns as she pulls out the cross from earlier.  
  
Looking at it more closely now, she can see it used to be on a chain or maybe a rosary. It’s old as sin, she can definitely tell that much. It’s tinged green around the edges, and she can tell there used to be an inscription on the back that has since faded from the soft metal. Green stones stud the front, but they’re the wrong shade to be emeralds.  
  
She’s so engrossed in examining the cross that she almost doesn’t hear the footsteps behind her until it’s too late. Jo glances over her shoulder, heart jumping into her throat when she recognizes the man following her. Ducking quickly into the next alley, she bends down and frees the small pistol strapped to her leg.   
  
Jo releases the safety and racks the slide. The man follows her around into the alley as expected, and she raises the gun, taking aim. “What do you want?”  
  
He holds up his arms in a placating gesture and says, “Listen, I don’t care about the truck. Keep it. My present to you. I just need something that was in it, okay?”  
  
“Fuck you. How the hell’d you find me? We checked for tracking devices.” Jo tries not to think about all the ways this could end badly and concentrates instead on attempting to not look scared shitless.  
  
His arms drop to his sides, and the kindly expression that was on his face drops, too. “There’s more than one way to find something, girlie. Now, don’t test me. Put that gun down and give me the cross I know you have with you.”  
  
If she can bluff her way out of this, she’ll count it a small miracle. Raising an eyebrow, she shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I kind of like it; maybe I’ll keep it for myself.”  
  
He growls and takes a step forward. Jo takes a step back, her feet scuffing lightly against the wet pavement. “S-stay where you are.”  
  
“Just give me the goddamn cross. You don’t even know what it is!”  
  
“What if I do?”  
  
He laughs, cold and disbelieving. “Honey, if you knew what the cross was, you wouldn’t _want_ to keep it. Just hand it over before you get yourself hurt.”  
  
Jo adjusts her grip on her gun, trying to hide the tremors of fear in her hand. Her voice shakes as she says, “I think I can take care of myself.”  
  
“Sure doesn’t look that way.”   
  
When he rushes towards her, Jo panics, her eyes snapping shut as she squeezes the gun’s trigger. The resulting gunshot makes her jump, the gun’s recoil bruising her hand.   
  
Opening her eyes, she finds the man on his knees, clutching at his shoulder. “Shit.”  
  
He starts clawing at the wound, body shaking as he digs into the bloody hole in his body. Jo’s pretty sure she’s delirious. People don’t dig out bullets with their bare hands after someone shoots them. They just don’t. Except that this guy clearly is.  
  
“What—” he breaks off, grunting with pain. He pants as he continues to push and prod at the bullet hole. “What the fuck did you shoot me with?” he finally manages to grit out.  
  
Jo blinks, gun trembling slightly in her hands as she watches him pull out the shiny metal lump from his shoulder. “Wh-why does it matter?”   
  
She’s not sure why she asks, can’t see that answering him would make a very big difference. When she shoots a man and he sits in front of her and pulls out the bullet without even a sip of whiskey to dull the pain, maybe he deserves to know what kind she shot him with. She shakes her head slightly and shifts from foot to foot. “Silver. The bullet was silver.”  
  
“Fuck,” he hisses, throwing the offending bullet away from him. It skitters into the alley with a tiny staccato echo that makes the hairs stand up on Jo’s arms.  
  
“I would have to run into a goddamn hunter.” He glares at her, shifting his weight as he stands up. He’s still holding onto his wound, but he seems much steadier now that the bullet is out.   
  
Changing tactics, his voice goes softer. “Listen, I wasn’t actually going to hurt you just now. I just need that fucking cross, okay? I’m a… salesman of sorts. I have a buyer for that thing and she already gave me half the money. If I don’t deliver, I’m a dead man.”  
  
Jo’s mind races with possibilities. Silver bullet. What does a silver bullet hurt? Werewolves, definitely, but the guy doesn’t strike her as a werewolf. Not to mention that the full moon is in two nights, and he would have already turned. Well, she’s like seventy-five percent positive he would. Jo’s not exactly familiar with werewolf lore.   
  
What else, what else? Djinns, but he definitely isn’t one of those, and it would need to be dipped in some kind of blood to be effective, she thinks. She takes a deep breath, willing herself to remember what else silver harms. Finally, it hits her. “You’re a shapeshifter.”  
  
She doesn’t mean to blurt it out that way, but now she can’t take it back. He’s going to ask questions, wonder how she knew to shoot him with a silver bullet when she didn’t even know what he was to begin with. The truth is, Jo’s not even sure how the fuck that silver bullet got into the clip. It’s a total fluke, an accident left over from when she gave a damn about the things that go bump in the night. She doesn’t think there are any more in the gun she’s holding. Its only use now is that _he_ doesn’t know there are no more silver bullets in it.  
  
“You didn’t know I was a shapeshifter, and yet you shot me with silver? Isn’t that a little wasteful for a hunter?”  
  
“Thought maybe you were a werewolf,” she lies, hoping to hell he’s not familiar with the lore, either.  
  
He looks doubtfully at her but doesn’t move. “And you shot me in the shoulder? Or are you just a bad aim?”  
  
“If I’d wanted you dead, you would have been dead,” she says with all the conviction she can muster. Now that she seems to have the upper hand, she wants to exploit it as much as possible. “What I want is for you to tell me about the cross. Why is it so important?”  
  
He opens his mouth to answer when Jo suddenly hears sirens in the distance. Someone must have called about her gunshot. “Son of a bitch.”  
  
The man looks behind him and then back at Jo, eyes starting to look panicked as he glances down at her pocket. “Listen, why don’t you put that gun down, and we can go talk about this over a beer like civilized people.”  
  
“Yeah, I don’t think so. Do I look stupid to you?”  
  
His face hardens. “Hey, I’m doing you a favor here. When the cops get here, all they’re going to see is you holding a gun on an unarmed man that you’ve already shot once, and when I tell them you stole my truck and provide proof, how do you think this is going to end? I would just rather leave them out of this entirely if I can. I need that cross sooner rather than later.”  
  
Jo purses her lips, tapping her foot nervously. She can hear the sirens growing closer. She sighs.  
  
“Well?”  
  
“Yeah… yeah, okay, fine, but take off your coat first. Slowly! Throw it on the ground and turn in a circle.” She’s not taking any chances that he’s armed, despite his little speech.  
  
He frowns but does as she asks. She notices as he does that his shoulder looks almost completely healed, even if the shirt is slightly bloody.   
  
“Now lift up your pant legs,” Jo commands, waving her gun at his legs. He lifts them, and she looks as closely as she dares. Nothing is hidden in his socks as far as she can see.  
  
“Satisfied?” he barks.  
  
“Yeah, let’s go.” She motions him in front of her with the gun, giving him directions as they go.  
  
They take the back way out of the alley, heading to a bar about two blocks down. She sees squad cars race past them, and she hides her gun inside her coat pocket. None of them slow. She guesses a girl and a coatless old man aren’t what they’re looking for.  
  
They slip into the bar and make their way to the back relatively unnoticed. It’s dark enough that his bloodstain isn’t immediately recognizable as a _blood_ stain.   
  
Sitting, she keeps her hands tucked into her pockets, one firmly on her gun, the other wrapped tightly around the cross. “So, what’s so important about this cross, and why are you selling it?”  
  
“My name’s Gabriel. It’s nice to meet you,” he replies sarcastically.   
  
Jo eyes him, realizing for the first time one of the many reasons he makes her so uneasy. His behavior is not like any man in his sixties that she knows. “Uh huh, and whose body are you parading in, Gabriel? Whose grandpa did you kill?”  
  
“You hunters, you’re all the same. You think just because I’m supernatural, I’m evil. Well, sorry to disappoint, but that’s not the case. The guy I’m impersonating was already dead when I found him. It’s what I do. Find some old loner, wait for him to croak, and live in his shoes for a bit. No harm, no foul.”  
  
“If you’re all about not disturbing the status quo, then what’s with the cross? And if the cross was so important, why the hell’d you leave the truck the way you did?”  
  
He sighs, shrugging. “Because, someone _else_ was supposed to take it. It was the mode of drop off. Then you came out of nowhere and fucked it up before they could get in. It’s how I knew where you were. They followed you, thought you were working with me and trying to double cross them. It’s only dumb luck on your part that _she_ didn’t come for it herself.”  
  
“She?”  
  
“Yeah, real nasty piece of work. Demon, as far as I can tell, but not like any I’ve ever come across before. She wanted the cross for some kind of deal. Something to do with someone’s soul and blah blah blah. You know how demons get. Everything is destiny this and Dark One that, and I sort of tuned it out. I wasn’t really interested beyond the cool million she offered me to get it.”  
  
“A million dollars for a beat up old cross?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“And why you?”  
  
“Because… I’m the only one who could.”  
  
Jo shot Gabriel a disbelieving look. “You could get to something a demon couldn’t?”  
  
“It’s because of the cross…” He trailed off, looking as if he didn’t want to reveal the specific reason very much. Finally, he rolled his eyes. “Whatever, okay, it’s got a curse on it, okay? No one can take it forcibly from another person. You can’t kill them for it, and you can’t steal it if it’s on their person. The person who had it had to give it to me. I had to impersonate their son.”  
  
“And this person believed their son suddenly developed a desire for old family relics?”  
  
“Not my department. I guess it was time for it to pass on or something. The demon knew about it and only needed me to be the receiver.”’  
  
“Charming. So you got this cursed cross, and you’re just handing it over to a demon—no questions asked.”  
  
Gabriel shrugs. “Again, not my department. That’s what you hunters are for. I got enough worries trying to avoid you people. I’m not going to start stepping in your territory unless I can’t help it… or there’s a whole lot of money involved.”  
  
Rolling her eyes, Jo snorts at his continued jabs at hunters. It’d bother her more if she actually were one. “You do that often, sell supernatural stuff?”  
  
“Not really. It’s not my M.O. Too much hassle if you ask me. Not everything sells for such a high price as the cross.”  
  
“But there are people who do… who, like, make a living out of it, right?” She leans forward in her seat.  
  
“Well, yeah…” He starts ticking names off on his fingers. “You got Bela Talbot, Peter Stumph, Jack Fox. They’re some of the biggest names in the business.”  
  
None of those names rings a bell for Jo. She thought she knew the names of every major player, but apparently, these people are in a completely separate game.  
  
It makes her excited—this alternative to the life she gave up over a year ago. All glory and paydays, and no vigilante mindset, no thankless sacrifices. Why hasn’t she ever thought of this before? Why hasn’t she ever _heard_ of it before?  
  
“I want in.”  
  
Gabriel coughs, eyes wide as he stares at her. “You want in? What exactly does that mean?”  
  
“It means what it means. I want in on the cross deal. You said so yourself. You can’t take it from me; I have to give it over. Let me in on this.”  
  
“You want to make a deal with a demon?”  
  
Jo ignores the burning at the pit of her stomach. “Absolutely.”  
  
“What kind of hunter are you?”  
  
Jo smiles, shrugging at the question. “Not a hunter at all, Gabriel. I’m just a car thief.”  
  
Instead of looking surprised or angry, he laughs. “Well, that explains a lot. Everything except the silver bullet.”  
  
“I said I wasn’t a hunter, not that I wasn’t familiar with the territory.”  
  
He shifts in his seat, pointing his whole hand at her. “This isn’t _easy_ , and it’s almost always dirty. Making deals with demons isn’t even the half of it.”  
  
“I don’t care, Gabriel. I need—” She cuts herself off, biting down on her tongue. Gabriel looks at her, eyes narrowing like he can sense her weakness. And goddamn it, she doesn’t want to be that girl again. The girl who is only capable of wanting and not doing. “Just let me in on this, and you never have to hear from me again, okay?”  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Gabriel sighs, running his hand through his hair. “Meet me at eight a.m. near the Waffle House in Riverside. Bring the cross.”  
  
She nods once, mouth a thin line. A waitress finally shows up just as Jo slides out of her seat, and Jo laughs. “Never mind, sorry for the bother.”  
  
The woman scowls and Jo watches her walk away, sighing before turning back towards Gabriel. “Eight, and don’t be late.”  
  
“You can count on it.”  
  
When Jo gets home, she’s overwhelmed with a feeling she can’t quite pin down. It feels like homesickness, like panic and nervousness and uncontrolled idiocy all rolled into one. Like this is the best adventure of her life and the worst mistake she’ll ever make, all tied into one.  
  
And she’s waiting for it. The waiting might be the scariest part. She knows she can pull this off, but she worries the fear will hold her back from ever trying if she has to wait too long.   
  
Pulling the cross out of her pocket, Jo runs a thumb over the smooth, green stones before flipping it over to examine the worn inscription again. In the light, she can make it out a little better, but it’s unhelpfully not in English. _Noli me tangere_.   
  
Jo frowns, wondering if it’s Latin. If a demon is connected with it, then probably. Too bad she never bothered to learn Latin. If Ash were still alive…  
  
But he isn’t, and the only other person Jo can think of off the top of her head who could probably translate this is Sam. It’ll be a cold day in hell before she ever calls the Winchesters for help.  
  
Google it is. Except when she hits search, she isn’t expecting much, but then the page loads, and she gets an answer in the very first link. “Okay, that was too easy.”  
  
She spends about ten minutes browsing all the links, but they all say the same thing. _Don’t touch me_ or _let nothing touch me_ are all she consistently finds. Well, if it’s some sort of warning, it’s already useless, but maybe it has something to do with whoever’s soul Gabriel was talking about.   
  
Jo stops suddenly, almost laughing at herself. Why the hell does she care? This isn’t a hunt. She doesn’t need to find out everything about this cross before she sells it. She just needs to sell it. Maybe in the future, she’ll take more care before touching random things, but it’s too late this time. Now all she can do is show up tomorrow morning.  
  
\--  
  
Jo rubs her arms for warmth as she hurries up the sidewalk towards the bright yellow Waffle House sign. Inside the big glass walls, she can see Gabriel sitting at a booth across from a blonde-haired woman. Well, demon, more likely.   
  
Mustering every bit of stubborn courage she can, Jo pushes her shoulders back and walks forward. Gabriel doesn’t immediately notice her presence, but the demon does. It tosses the long blonde hair it stole and smiles bright and innocent at Jo. It’s unnerving, and Jo’s step falters just enough to give her away.  
  
The warm smile swiftly shifts into a smirk just as Gabriel finally looks up from his plate of bacon and eggs. “So you showed. That’s good. I really didn’t want this shit to be my final meal.”  
  
“Aww, don’t be like that, Gabe. What’s wrong with Waffle House?”  
  
Gabriel sighs and points at Ruby while looking at Jo. “Jo, this is Ruby. Ruby, this is Jo, obviously.”  
  
“So, this is the little girl that got the jump on you? You know, she didn’t even know you were a shapeshifter. That silver bullet was a fluke.”  
  
Jo’s jaw drops, and she tries not to panic. Demons can read a person’s mind, especially when they’re as amped up as Jo is, emotions running wild. Forcing a smile on her face, Jo takes a deep breath. “Yeah, well, it’s _full_ of them now, so don’t get any ideas.”  
  
Gabriel glances at Ruby for confirmation, but she only shrugs. “I wouldn’t test it out or anything, Gabe.”  
  
“Stop calling me that. Jesus Christ, it’s Gabriel.”  
  
Ruby flinches, her eyes enveloped in black. Jo blinks, and the black is gone, but Ruby scowls at Gabriel. “You’re lucky I don’t feel like switching bodies any time soon, or I’d kill you for the hell of it.”  
  
He shifts uneasily, clearing his throat. “Can we just get down to business? I’ve got places to be.”  
  
Jo’s hand goes to her pocket reflexively, fingers running over the smooth copper of the cross. Ruby narrows her eyes.  
  
“You splitting the mil fifty-fifty?” asks Ruby.  
  
Jo nods, and Ruby grabs one of the two cases sitting next to her. Handing it to Gabriel, she says, “Here, _Gabe_ , take this and get out of here before I decide to kill you after all. You’re not needed anymore.”  
  
He hesitates for a moment, looking back and forth between Jo and the case before he grabs it. “Sorry, Jo. Good luck with this one.”  
  
Jo watches wide-eyed as he gets up and walks out, leaving her alone with the motherfucking _demon_. “Should’ve known better than to trust a goddamn shapeshifter.”  
  
“Go on and take a seat, Jo.” Ruby beckons towards the now empty side of the booth.  
  
She slides into Gabriel’s vacated spot, her hands resting on the smooth Formica table. “So.”  
  
The pink of Ruby’s tongue flicks out, tracing over her lips and keeping Jo’s attention for too long. “So, since you went and got tangled up in this of your own accord, there’s something else I want from you.”  
  
Jo leans back, attempting to look as relaxed as possible, but the truth is, she feels wound up so tight that she could break apart at any moment. “And what’s that?”  
  
“I want _you_ to deliver the cross to its intended recipient now.”  
  
That was stupidly simple. “And who is it?”  
  
“I think you might know him. I heard you really carried the torch for him.”  
  
Jo sucks in a gasp of air, holding it there for way too long while she tries to calm herself down. She hates herself right now. Why did one mention of a Winchester have to affect her so badly?   
  
“Problem?”  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
Ruby laughs, and the sound is so out of place. It’s not cold, not biting or cruel the way Sam’s laughter was when he was possessed. It’s happy, genuine, and girlish. “I like you, Jo.”  
  
That’s just perfect. It’s just what she always wanted, a demon who likes her. “Why me?”  
  
“Because it’ll hurt him.”  
  
Jo snorts, almost laughing at the absurdity of the statement. “Hurt him? I think you’ve got your wires crossed. Dean Winchester doesn’t give a shit about me.”  
  
Half shrugging, Ruby reaches up to twirl a blonde curl around her finger. “Oh, I don’t know. The little hunter girl he could never bother with, the one that his possessed brother almost murdered, and she’s the one who keeps him from dying? I think it’ll hurt plenty.”   
  
“Dean’s dying?” she asks before she can stop herself.  
  
Ruby lifts a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, and her mouth slides sideways, curling up in a sneer. “What, your mom didn’t tell little Jo that her boyfriend sold his soul?”  
  
Jo goes stony all over, voice detached as she says, “I don’t talk to my mother anymore.”  
  
“Ah, well, let me be the first to tell you. Dean sold his soul to a crossroads demon after he watched his precious baby brother killed right in front of his eyes. Brought Sam back but only got one year left for himself. That cross in your pocket will save his soul and his life.”  
  
“You’re lying.”  
  
Leaning forward, Ruby rests her head in her hands. “Might be, demons do lie from time to time. But then again, I might not be. Do you want to be responsible for Dean’s trip to hell?”  
  
Jo makes a sound of disgust and rolls her eyes. “He won’t even believe me. He never did trust anything I did or said.”  
  
“He’ll believe you. Tell him he can even check the cross out with good old Bobby. It’s the real deal. He gives the demon that holds the contract for his soul that cross, he’s off the hook, totally and completely.”  
  
Jo narrows her eyes. “Does he know who holds the contract?”  
  
“Ha!” Ruby applauds her, like she’s a little kid who got a question right in class. “He doesn’t, but if he’s holding that cross when the hell hounds come a’calling, the contract holder will show up.”  
  
Jo purses her lips. “You know, I’m not a complete idiot. You don’t have to treat me like I am.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Jo, I treat everyone like this. You’re all complete idiots to me.”   
  
“That’s reassuring.”  
  
Ruby smirks. “Not a reassurance, just a consolation.”  
  
“Fine. Where can I find Dean?”  
  
“Right now, the brothers Winchester are in Oregon. Beaverton, to be precise.”  
  
“It’s going to take a while to get out to Oregon. How long are they going to be there?”  
  
Ruby leers, waggling her eyebrows at Jo. “Oh, I think they’ll be there for a while. They haven’t been moving around as much now that Dean’s time is almost up. Trying to increase the, uh, _quality_ of their time together.”  
  
“You know what? I don’t even want to know what you’re talking about. You want me to deliver the cross to Dean, then that’s what I’ll do. Give me the money and I’ll go.” She holds out her hand to Ruby, mouth set in a thin line. She wants this, more than she’s willing to admit. To have one up on Dean Winchester after the way he treated her is too big of a temptation. She more than wants this. She _needs_ this.   
  
Ruby lifts the case and passes it over the table to her. Jo takes it without hesitation, gripping it tightly. The weight of the case reaffirms her decision. “Just one question. Why not just deliver the thing yourself? Wouldn’t a demon savior bother Dean just as much as me?”  
  
“Probably more,” admits Ruby. “But I don’t trust either of those boys not to shoot me the minute I hand over the cross, and I’ve got other things on my agenda that don’t involve dying.”  
  
Jo shivers at the mention of Ruby’s agenda, unwilling to contemplate what that might involve. “Fair enough. Well, if that’s everything, I’ll be going.”  
  
“Just one more thing. Dean’s contract is up in a week. I’d fly if I were you.”  
  
\--  
  
It takes Jo two days to get to Oregon and another two before she finally gets Dean to return her phone calls. It’s annoying, and she knows if she were anyone else, he’d have already called her back. If time weren’t such an issue, Jo would love to let Dean’s call go to voicemail, but she’s unsure she’ll ever get him on the phone again. “Hello?”  
  
“What do you need, Jo? Christ, most people would give up after the fourth or fifth message.”  
  
“Finally! Dean, I have something you need.”  
  
Dean heaves a heavy sigh over the line, and Jo can almost see him shaking his head. “I’m not going to need anything much longer. Listen, I guess you haven’t heard, but—”  
  
“I know all about your stupid deal, Dean. That’s why I’m calling. Like I said, I have something you need.” The viciousness with which she delivers the news sends thrills up Jo’s spine, almost scares her with how much she enjoys putting him in his place.  
  
He’s silent for a long time, his steady breaths the only thing Jo hears. She waits, unwilling to say anything more until he speaks.  
  
“How?”  
  
“Does it really matter now? Just give me the address of whatever house you’re squatting in, and I’ll be there.”  
  
She can hear Dean shifting around, papers shuffling in the distance. “How do you know we’re squatting? How do you even know what town we’re in?”  
  
“Ruby told me, and I already know you’re not in any of the three local hotels or the one ten miles down the road. Just tell me where you are, Dean.”  
  
“Son of a bitch, you’re talking to that demonic cunt, too?”  
  
“You’re wasting time you don’t have, Dean. Give me the address or enjoy your time in hell.”  
  
“When the fuck did you get so pushy?” he asks with annoyance.  
  
“About the time I got felt up by a demon wearing your brother’s skin.”  
  
Dean’s voice is small sounding when he replies. “1711 Buchanan Avenue.”  
  
He hangs up before she can say anything else. She feels giddy, almost high from the exchange, but a burning regret is also seeping in, darkening her mood. She did care about Dean Winchester, once upon a time, and she definitely doesn’t want him in hell. She just… well, the truth is, she just wants him to see her as more than the little girl who constantly needs saving, the one who can’t help but get in over her head and couldn’t get herself out given a map and pointed in the right direction.  
  
Pocketing her cell, she enters the address into the computer and jots down the directions MapQuest gives her. Less than ten minutes, and she’ll be face to face with Dean for the first time in fifteen months. She pockets her gun and double checks that the cross is still on the chain she got for it four days ago, secure around her neck.   
  
She can feel the tension mounting as she drives the few short blocks. It’s making her cocky and reckless, but she doesn’t care. She turns the corner onto Buchanan, and her eyes lock almost instantly on the Impala. She parks behind it and jogs up the walk to the front porch.  
  
Two sharp knocks, and the door is flung open. Dean’s on the other side, gun aimed at Jo’s face. “Hi, Jo.”  
  
Sam appears over his shoulder, carrying a glass of water. “Mind taking a sip of this?” he asks quietly.  
  
Reaching for the glass, she glances down, noticing the line of black powder over the threshold. “No salt?” she asks before taking a sip of the holy water.  
  
“Nah, this is better for keeping hell hounds away.” Dean steps to the side, lowering his gun and allowing her to pass when she doesn’t start steaming. “Goofer dust.”  
  
“Huh, never heard of it.”  
  
Sam shoves his hands in his pockets and shuffles to the far wall. “It’s voodoo, mostly graveyard dirt and snakeskin.”  
  
“And it keeps hell hounds at bay?” She can’t help but sound impressed as she steps over it.  
  
“Not really, but it’s been known to keep them from showing up earlier rather than later,” Dean clarifies, shutting the door behind her. “So what do you have that I so desperately need?”  
  
“Came across something while I was running a job in St. Louis.”  
  
“What kind of hunt?”  
  
Dean sits down at the kitchen table, but Sam stays standing across the room, watching. Jo gives him a cursory nod before she joins Dean at the table. “Wasn’t a hunt, just a job.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Turned out the truck I was stealing belonged to a shapeshifter who was transporting something for a demon.”  
  
“Ruby,” says Sam. It’s not a question.  
  
Jo nods. “Yeah, anyway, the something, a copper cross, is cursed or enchanted or whatever, and it can get Dean out of his deal.”  
  
Dean’s nostrils flare, and he shifts in his seat. “Who said I want out of my deal?”  
  
“Why wouldn’t you? This is your only chance. As far as I know, chances to repurchase your soul aren’t really a dime a dozen.”   
  
“I’ll tell you the same thing I told Sam. I don’t want anything from that goddamn demon bitch. Whatever it is, there’s a catch. Demons don’t just go around helping people out of the goodness of their hearts. I won’t accept her help. Period. End of story.” He slams his fist down on the tabletop.  
  
The statement is all bravado and honor, and it’s exactly the sort of thing that always made her want Dean so very desperately. Except now, it only makes her laugh right in Dean’s face. She doesn’t know where it comes from, but it feels so good she almost can’t stop. This is her hero, the great Dean Winchester, and he’s bluffing his way right out of a soul and a life and straight into hell.  
  
Sam shoots her a disapproving look and crosses his arms. “Don’t laugh, Jo. He’s not joking.”   
  
“I know,” she gasps between laughs. “That’s what makes it so funny.”  
  
“That’s enough, Jo,” Dean tells her forcefully, voice gruff. He’s clearly pissed off, and Jo finds that she doesn’t care.  
  
“No, Dean, that’s enough from you. I found this cross, negotiated for it, and brought it all the way to Oregon. Why, I don’t know anymore. I thought maybe you’d be grateful, that I’d finally be able to save your ass for once and you’d maybe see me as more than just some kid with stars in her eyes.”  
  
Dean’s eyes go soft, and he sighs. “Jo…”   
  
“Call Bobby if you don’t believe me, but this thing will save you. It’ll bring you face to face with whoever has your contract, and you can trade it for your soul.” She picks up the chain around her neck and pulls it over her head, holding the cross out to Dean. It dangles between them, swinging with momentum.  
  
Dean tracks it with his eyes, watching as it moves back and forth. Finally, he shakes his head. “No.”  
  
“What is _wrong_ with you?”  
  
“He can’t take the cross knowing it’ll get him out of his deal. I’ll drop dead.” Sam kicks himself away from the wall and walks over. “But I can take it.”  
  
“Sam, don’t,” Dean says sharply.  
  
Sam ignores him and holds out his hand to Jo. Dean stands from the table, knocking the chair backwards. “Jo, if you give that to him…”  
  
“You’ll what, Dean? I came here to deliver the cross. I’m not leaving here with it still in my possession.” She drops it in Sam’s open palm, her eyes daring Dean to say anything else.  
  
He looks away, frustration clearly written on his face. “You’ve changed.”  
  
The small admission makes her heart pound in her chest, has her feeling validated in an entirely unexpected way. “Thank you.”  
  
His eyes narrow for a moment as he looks at her again. Standing from the table, Jo tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and extends her hand towards him. “Good luck, Dean.”  
  
He takes her hand and shakes it once, eyes never leaving hers. “You, too.”  
  
Her hand slips from his, and Jo turns to leave, waving at Sam as she walks out the front door. She doesn’t look back, at least not until she hears someone come out the door behind her. Jo stops, whirling around to find Sam rushing after her.  
  
She takes a step back involuntarily. “Sam?”  
  
“Sorry,” he replies, stopping immediately and holding his hands up. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Sam scratches the back of his neck and looks down at the sidewalk. “I just wanted to thank you for bringing us the cross.”  
  
Jo sticks her hands in her back pockets and offers him a small smile. “No problem.”  
  
“And I wanted to say how sorry I am about what happened last time…”  
  
A chill shoots down Jo’s spine, and she shivers. “Yeah, all right.”  
  
Sam lifts his head again, eyes round with sincerity. “I mean it. I think you’re a great girl, Jo, and I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”  
  
“Uh, thanks.”  
  
His voice goes hard and commanding as he says, “Which is why I’m telling you to stay away from Ruby.”  
  
She shifts her body to the side, hip jutting out. “Excuse me?”  
  
“You heard me, Jo. Stay away from her. She’s dangerous. I really appreciate what you did, but you were stupid to get involved with Ruby.”  
  
All the satisfaction she gained from her confrontation with Dean disappears at Sam’s words, replaced instantly with rolling anger. “Don’t you dare lecture me!”  
  
Pursing his lips and rolling his eyes, Sam sighs dramatically. “Dean’s wrong. You haven’t changed at all. You’re still this little girl who wants to play with the big kids and throws a fit when she can’t keep up.”  
  
This instant hurt she feels is like poison, rolling through her system until she lashes out, hand making its mark across Sam’s cheek. “Fuck you, Sam.”  
  
Sam rubs his face, eyes wide with shock, and the door behind him bursts open again. Dean comes charging out, wild-eyed. “What the hell is going on?”  
  
Shaking her head, Jo backs away. “Nothing, just figuring out that I’m not the only one who’s changed around here. Goodbye, Dean.”  
  
She can feel their eyes on her back as she walks away, but she refuses to turn around again. Her whole body feels like bad electrical wires, sparking and burning inside of her, and she doesn’t know what she’ll do if she has to look at either of their faces again.   
  
Jo starts her rental, feeling stupid as she peels out in her rush to be away from them, but she won’t even look in the rearview mirror to see their reaction. If she never sees either of them ever again, it’ll be too soon. Why did she do this to herself? Why, why, why?  
  
Pounding the heel of her palm against the steering wheel, she screams in frustration. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. She isn’t supposed to feel like this. Jo’s supposed to feel vindicated, righteous, _better_.  
  
Better than them, anyway. All she feels is bitter anger and frustration, like it’s last year all over again. “Damn it!”  
  
She speeds the whole way back to the hotel, almost hoping she gets pulled over, but she arrives without incident and almost breaks the car door as she flings it open. The door to her hotel room doesn’t fare much better. The only thing that stops her from grabbing the nearest object and flinging it against the wall after she slams the door shut is the sight of Ruby sprawled out on the bed, leaning against the headboard.  
  
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jo shouts.  
  
Ruby crosses her legs at the ankle and tucks her hands behind her head. “Just making sure you didn’t fuck anything up.”  
  
“Well, they have the cross, okay? Now get the fuck out.” Jo points towards the door and stomps past the bed to the bathroom.  
  
She really needs to piss because of the stupid holy water they made her drink, and if Ruby is still out there when she comes back, Jo thinks she might attempt an exorcism, even if she’s never even seen one performed. Not that she can really follow through with that threat when she comes out and Ruby hasn’t moved a muscle.  
  
“You’re lucky I don’t have an exorcism memorized,” Jo snaps. “But I do have holy water, and I swear to _God_ I will drown you in the stuff if you don’t leave me alone.”  
  
“You were so much nicer the last time I saw you. What’s the matter? Dean-o didn’t propose when you came to his rescue?” She moves her legs around to the edge of the bed and gets up, walking towards Jo.  
  
In maybe the dumbest move of her life, Jo balls her hand into a fist and takes a swing at Ruby, the force of her whole body behind the punch. She doesn’t care if it gets her killed because she’ll die if she keeps feeling like this—helpless, defenseless, useless, and any other less she can think of.  
  
Her hand connects with Ruby’s jaw, the resulting sound too loud in Jo’s ears. Her fist aches with the impact, and she steps back, hands up in a defensive position, ready for a return blow.  
  
Ruby rotates her jaw, mouth working open and shut as she stares at Jo. “You know, if I were human, that would have really fucking hurt, you bitch.”  
  
“That was the plan,” she replies stubbornly, determined to pick a fight.  
  
“Little Jo Harvelle, always in over her head,” Ruby singsongs, her voice light and mocking as she advances on Jo.  
  
Standing her ground, Jo reaches out and grabs a hold of Ruby’s jacket collar, yanking her closer. “I am not.”  
  
Ruby’s mouth is inches from Jo’s. Their breath intermingles, hot and damp. Her eyes are bright, gray-green and beautiful, but when they flood with black, something breaks open inside of Jo. “I think you are,” Ruby whispers.  
  
Jo’s lips crash into Ruby’s like the inevitable crash of a wave against a cliff, at once cataclysmic and ordinary. Ruby kisses back, laughing into Jo’s mouth as she pushes her onto the bed.  
  
Jo tries not to think about the laughter, tries to concentrate on the press of Ruby’s tongue to hers and the sharp bite of teeth on her bottom lip. Ruby’s hand slips between them, deftly undoing Jo’s pants and shoving under the elastic of her underwear.  
  
Her small fingers are cold, making Jo grunt with surprise and pleasure as they slide against her clit. Ruby mouths wet along Jo’s jaw, tongue teasing at Jo’s ear. “Mmm, what I want to know is, are you wet for me or Dean?” she asks, pressing two fingers inside of Jo.  
  
Ignoring the question, Jo pushes her hips up, legs falling open. “More.”  
  
Complying, Ruby quickens her movements, fingers working in and out rapidly while her thumb drags across Jo’s clit. “Or maybe it’s for Sammy? You got a thing for bad, right? Bet you secretly wanted Sam to fuck you when you slapped him.”   
  
Jo hates herself a little more with every word Ruby speaks, mostly because she knows none of it is true. She just desperately wants it to be so she doesn’t have to think about what it means to want _Ruby_.   
  
“I bet you really hate that I can read every thought you’re having.” Ruby smiles wickedly and kisses her again.  
  
Groaning into the kiss, Jo squeezes her eyes shut, breath catching as she feels herself teetering on the edge. Every touch builds on top of the other. The flick of Ruby’s thumb over her clit, the press and slide of her fingers inside of Jo, it’s too fucking perfect.   
  
Jo climaxes suddenly, sharply. Ruby pushes in deep, letting Jo rut against her hand, riding out the waves of her orgasm, and it feels so good it fucking _hurts_. “F-fuck, Ruby,” she gasps.  
  
Finally, Ruby pulls her hand away, pushing herself up and climbing off Jo. Jo watches in half-awareness, barely able to focus in her post-bliss haze. Standing up, Ruby wipes her hand on her jeans and stretches.  
  
“Where are you going?” Jo asks.  
  
“Oh you know, havoc to wreak, innocents to corrupt. You did the easy part, delivering the cross. Now I need to have a conversation with Sam about his end of the deal,” she says absently as she turns to look in the nearby mirror. Jo watches Ruby straighten her hair and wipe the smudged lipstick at the corner of her mouth away. “Have fun with the money, Jo, and try not to do everything I would do.”  
  
Sitting up, Jo buttons her pants back up and runs a shaky hand through her hair. The whole situation is bizarre and completely fucked up, but she feels compelled to ask, “Why not, Ruby?”  
  
“Like I said, kiddo, I like you. Plus, you may come in handy later, so it’d be nice if you weren’t dead.”  
  
Jo blinks, surveying with fascination as Ruby’s eyes change from black to hazel again. “Nice to know, I guess.”  
  
Ruby laughs, and it’s the same tinkling, girlish laugh from four days ago, the one that was so perfectly out of place. Jo smiles and doesn’t bother watching Ruby leave. She’s sure it won’t be her last opportunity to see Ruby walk out of a door.


End file.
